


With the Little That's Left

by sexylibrarian1



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Dehumanization, Gen, Physical and Mental Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9385895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexylibrarian1/pseuds/sexylibrarian1
Summary: HYDRA has a clean slate. He’s not Bucky Barnes, but he is not yet the Soldier they are looking for, and so they have to rebuild him, mold him into what they want him to be. Bucky Barnes was known for his protective instincts and his loyalty, which they need to recreate and shape. After all, a soldier who isn’t protective of and loyal to those he serves is just cannon fodder. Bearing this in mind, HYDRA feeds their new Asset propaganda… and gives him someone to be loyal to. Soldat gets a pet, which he must take care of, or face the consequences of not doing so.After all, there’s nothing more effective than giving someone a reason to remain willing.





	1. Part One

“Soldat.”  
Soldier, it was Russian for “soldier” and that’s what they called him; he didn’t have a name anymore, maybe he had one once, but it didn’t matter, sort of like the thoughts in his head—sometimes he had plenty of thoughts, like now, and sometimes his brain was painfully, ominously silent—  
“Stand at attention, Soldat.”  
He did, knowing what was coming if he disobeyed.  
“Follow me.”  
Soldat fell in step just behind the man in the black uniform, taking him in: pistol at his back, two guns at his hips, the strap holding his bullets hanging on his waist. He wore long sleeves; likely there were knives hidden up there, just like the ones probably also in his boots. His hands were empty, but his index finger kept twitching and a bead of sweat slid lazily down the center of his neck.   
The agent was nervous. Soldat didn’t quite understand why. He only had one arm, after all, and as far as he was concerned, that made him a pretty pathetic excuse for a soldier. Technically, they shouldn’t have him here at all—he should be classified as… as… well, something. Not fit to serve, in any case. They had promised to fix his arm, but hadn’t gotten around to it just yet.  
The agent turned from one hallway to another, and Soldat felt horror pool deep inside his stomach. He knew where they were going; down this hallway was the big room with the chair and the machines that shocked him and scrambled his brain, made him groggy and desperate with pain and unable to remember the events immediately before and after the torture. Usually, while they were torturing him, they would show him videos, and after the one time he’d asked why they showed him anything because he couldn’t remember it anyway, he’d been beaten so badly that he’d been in the infirmary for two weeks.  
The agents and doctors had been ignoring him lately… what if they were going to de-commission him?  
“In here.” The agent opened the door, and Soldat flinched automatically when he saw the gathering of people waiting inside. They were grouped around something, and Soldat noticed, to his relief, that the torture devices were off, not even prepped. His gaze swung back to the group, and they looked up, suddenly aware of the new arrivals.   
They backed away, and Soldat saw what they had been gathered around—a female civilian, dirty, disheveled, wearing a collar around her neck that one of the doctors had looped to his wrist. He yanked it and she looked up.  
Soldat felt a pang of a feeling that he couldn’t quite recognize in his chest. It was familiar, she was familiar… She was skinny, with big blue eyes too big for her face, and blonde hair lying listlessly on her shoulders. He took a step toward her without any prompting, and didn’t see the agent who had brought him in smirk in triumph. She flinched when he reached for her, and he stopped.  
“Go on. She’s yours.”  
Nothing belonged to him. They’d made that clear.   
“It’s all right, Soldat.” The agent closest to her was now speaking to him, and the man reached out and snatched the girl’s hair, edging her closer to Soldat. She whimpered.   
“Zachem?”   
“Because your behavior of late has been exemplary, Soldat. You deserve a reward.” The agents all smiled. Soldat didn’t like it; they didn’t seem like real smiles. “She is yours. Do whatever you choose with her.”  
“Ona nichego mne.”  
“She is a gift,” the agent retorted harshly. “You should take her with gratitude… perhaps let her become something to you.” He kicked the girl with the toe of his boot, and she flinched again.  
“Kto ona?”  
“Whoever you want her to be.” The agent offered him the wrist loop of the collar, but he ignored it and took a hold of the girl’s arm instead, pulling her up. She stumbled, and he was unprepared; they both nearly went down. One of the agents caught the girl, and another caught Soldat, helping him get his feet under him and looping the leash around his wrist. There were a couple of nervous giggles; Soldat saw her eyes flick back and forth between all the male agents, look to the collar, and back again. Silently, he cursed this new confusion and his lack of a left arm. It made him weak… and they knew it.  
Three agents followed him back to his cell, one of them holding a gun to his head and the other two crowding the girl. “You are to take care of her until further notice. Those are your orders,” the agent with the gun to his head ordered. “That is your mission. Keep her well, keep her fed. Do not let her die. Your job is to figure out how to do this until we say otherwise. Am I clear?”  
“Zachem?”  
The barrel of the gun pressed into his cheekbone. “Do not talk back, Soldat. She is your reward, but she is also your mission. Fail, and you will be punished.”  
His jaw clenched, and he nodded, trying not to feel. The agents tossed them both inside the cell and shut the door, leaving them in near darkness. He didn’t ever remember having a mission before, but he had a strange feeling that taking care of skinny blonde girls wearing the remains of skimpy outfits wasn’t a typical order. Irritably, he herded her over to his cot and made her sit on it, throwing his ratty blanket around her.  
“Kto ty?”  
“What?” She coughed, shivering. “What did you say?”  
Soldat blinked.   
“American—I—I’m American,” she stuttered.   
“Da,” he answered and then corrected it. “Yes. …Who are you?”  
“They told me that doesn’t matter,” she responded, almost monotonously. “I am here for you. I am here to please you.”  
“Please me?”  
She raised an eyebrow. “Make you feel good.”  
“And how do you do that?”  
“Like this.” She put a hand on his knee, and he watched as it crept slowly up his thigh. Abruptly, he pushed it off.  
“Go to sleep.”

“I am not entirely sure this is a good idea,” Agent Karpov muttered under his breath as they walked back to their quarters.  
Agent Schneider shushed him immediately. “We got the orders directly from Herr Schmidt and Herr Zola. We must not question them.”  
“It just seems like… it would make the Soldat remember. Did you even look at the whore?”  
“Of course I looked at her, how could I not? Her breasts were practically hanging out of her slip.”  
“I meant-”  
“I saw her!” Agent Schneider snapped, his German hitting Agent Karpov like bullets. “I fucked her. We all did. She’s a whore.”  
“Don’t you get it?” Agent Karpov was getting louder in his agitation, forgetting that they were in a hallway. “She’s an American prostitute. With blonde hair and blue eyes. She was starved so she’d be skinny, for God’s sake! Someone is trying to sabotage the Asset!”  
“No one is trying to sabotage the Asset!” Schneider hissed, slamming Karpov brutally against the wall. “Now shut up before we get taken in and executed!”  
Karpov looked as though he wanted to say more, but bit his lip at the look on his fellow agent’s face. Schneider released him. “No more questions.”  
Karpov didn’t show up to dinner that night.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Dehumanization, highly under-negotiated consensual-ish sex (no penetration), voyeurism
> 
> If you like what you see, come follow me on Tumblr! I'm there, too. My name on there is also sexylibrarian1 and the name of the blog is Trash and Tragedy.

He woke up to her crying, every single night for a solid week. On the first night, he’d ignored her and rolled into a tighter ball on the cell floor, cold and shaking, hating her outright for taking his cot and his blanket. On the second night, he’d spent the whole night flat on his back, constant stream of Russian, German, French, Spanish, and English swearwords going through his mind. There might have been some Yiddish mixed in there somewhere as well, but he had no idea where he might have learned it. On the third night, he’d run through every bit of the propaganda videos he could remember, and it had bored him enough that he went to sleep. On the fourth night, he’d listened to her exhausted sobs, feeling something he couldn’t quite name at her relentless, but no longer annoying, tears. On the fifth, he’d edged his way toward her and put his hand on her shoulder.  
She’d hiccupped briefly, and then started again. Curiously, he brushed his fingers across her face, and she froze. Muttering an epithet, he’d backed off and gone to his corner. She’d begun to cry again, but slowly, as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to continue. So, on the sixth night, he’d gone over to her as soon as she’d started to sob and put his hand on her shoulder, then moved it down her body in slow, soothing strokes. Her crying had ceased, but it had been replaced by shivering.  
So now, on the seventh night, he budged her slightly over on the cot and lay down next to her, pressing his body to hers and moving his hand in the same pattern, from her shoulder to her leg, establishing a steady rhythm. After one little cry, he heard her breathing lengthen and slow. Soldat felt his own heartbeat ease and match her breathing; he hadn’t even realized that he’d been so anxious for her. Images he hadn’t fully processed, of her coughing blood, struggling to breathe, stopping altogether—faded fully from his mind, and he tucked his head in the juncture between her shoulder and her neck, reassured by the solid beat of her pulse under his cheek, near enough to his mouth that he could kiss it if he wanted to.  
On the eighth night, she reached for him, and he came to her easily, folding himself around her as though they’d been doing it all their lives. To his surprise, though, she’d turned her body until she ended up under him, wrapped one arm around his back, and rolled her hips on his with leisurely intent.   
He jerked, startled, scrambling away from her. She couldn’t do that—she wasn’t able—if she did she would—  
“Please come here,” Soldat heard her whisper, and as if he was collared to her wrist, instead of the other way around, he came back to her.  
She would what?  
“I don’t know,” he muttered aloud, and she stopped, blinking at him.  
“I just want to make you feel good…”  
His mouth twitched. “You’re the one who’s been crying for the last week.”  
She smiled; her bottom lip trembled, but it was still a smile, and the sweet familiarity of it warmed his heart. “They kidnapped me,” she managed to whisper after a minute. “They kidnapped me and they brought me here. I don’t even know where I am anymore.”  
“…They rescued me,” Soldat told her. “…I was… I was… somewhere. It was cold. Everything in me hurt. And they rescued me.”  
She opened her mouth to answer him, looking as though she wanted desperately to contradict that assessment, but decided not to. Instead, she lifted her head slightly and brushed her lips across his.  
Soldat froze. Her blue eyes were so kind, so earnest… but she wasn’t right, this wasn’t right… he needed to keep her alive, and this would kill her—he didn’t know quite why, but it would—he would suffocate her, her heart would beat too fast—  
“Please…”  
He leaned down and kissed her mouth, but didn’t stay there, instead, he left a series of repeated, soft kisses on her lips, before he moved to her neck and left a light hickey on her collarbone. Her quiet sigh sent heat through his chest, down to his stomach, and it pooled and settled in his groin. He thrust against her, involuntarily, and she took it, grinding on him with an intent that made his jaw clench. “I can’t-”  
“Why not?” Her hand found the bulge in his pants and stroked. The deliberate casualness of it caused a moan to escape his lips.  
“I’ll hurt you-”   
He inhaled when she squeezed, lightly. “No, you won’t. You won’t hurt me. They might. But you wouldn’t. You’ve been kind to me.”  
Soldat eyed her, almost speculatively, before getting up on his knees, sliding down her tattered pants, and putting a hand on her. She wriggled impatiently and he smirked, drawing the heel of his palm on her in slow circles, dipping a finger in her every so often as he did so. Her hips began to stutter and her arms lifted off the floor; she was searching for purchase in air—couldn’t find it—his fingers were permanently in her now, stroking, stroking—  
She came with a cry, thrusting herself onto his fingers, and he used it, widening her, opening her, he didn’t stop—  
She finished again before she ever had a chance to come down.   
“You… you should have let me go first…” she panted, eyeing the substantially larger bulge in his pants. “They told me that I was here for you.”  
“Hush,” he answered, watching her carefully. Her face was red, but not dangerously so; she was panting, but her chest was rising and falling easily.   
Perhaps it was one of the better days.   
She squirmed out from under him and moved to her knees. “Lay down.”  
Soldat didn’t dare disobey a direct order.  
She broke into a satisfied grin and eased his pants down. Purring triumphantly to herself, she reached down and stroked Soldat with a finger, grazing him with a nail.   
He moaned.  
She did it again, and then, after dipping her hand into the bowl of water by the cot, used her whole hand on him, settling into a rhythm, listening to his gasped breaths and slowly speeding up. He groaned outright, pre-come leaking from him, eyes clenched shut, mouth open, and suddenly, he came, pulsing in her hand; his mouth moved as he finished, and he whispered a name, one she couldn’t quite make out.  
Slowly, his eyes opened, his breathing evened out, and finally, he shifted, fully aware. He blinked, once, twice, and reached up to tuck a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. 

Agent Schneider turned off the camera.  
“Please make sure you send the footage with me by the end of tomorrow,” his superior ordered, brow crinkling in thought. “Herr Schmidt and Herr Zola will need to see that in order to continue with the experiment.”


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you see, come follow me on Tumblr! Name is the same as here.
> 
> Warnings: Gang rape, physical abuse, dehumanization, blood, unsophisticated aftercare, death, voyeurism, masturbation, bodily fluids

Soldat woke up the next morning to find his little pet gone.  
There was a trail of blood on the floor and his cell door was ajar. Terror washed through him at the sight—she was in trouble, she was hurt…  
He would be punished.  
Without even bothering to put his clothes back on, he barged outside, running through the hallway. Oddly, terrifyingly, no one was there. His heart pounded in his chest and he made his way to the room with the chair and the torture devices… maybe she had just gone there on her own to find bandages for a wound…  
A piercing scream echoed through the hallway, and Soldat stumbled. He could hear dim shouting now, cries of triumph following the shriek.   
The doors to the torture room were also open. Soldat was standing at the top of the stairs, and down below, in the center of the room, by the chair, was his little pet, with one agent holding her by the air and slamming himself into her ass. Another was in front of her, ramming into her vagina. One was leaning against the chair, stroking himself, pants down around his ankles, weapon straps loose.  
Time seemed to stop.  
Soldat opened his mouth. There are ten agents in this room. No jackets, no badges. They’re young, stupid, inexperienced.  
He began to inhale. They’re all clustered around the girl. Good.   
His chest started to rise. Three are weaponless. Two have discarded their most dangerous weapons. Five are armed.  
His shoulders lifted. He began to move. Stay in the dark.  
He breath reached its apex. I need a gun.   
His chest began to fall. Loaded gun three feet to the left. Carries twelve bullets.  
He finished the breath. Don’t hit her.  
Soldat picked up the gun, flipped it expertly in his right hand, and squeezed the trigger in rapid succession. He left the two boys fucking his pet for last, and smiled when they dropped, one right after the other, twin holes in the center of their heads.   
She was screaming, and Soldat took the stairs three at a time, fear pounding through his brain, horrified at the idea that he had hurt her. He had been her protector, it was his mission, and he’d already failed…  
Once on his knees at her side, he reached down and ran his hands searchingly over her body. There was blood, she was soaked in it, covered in semen and pre-come, but no bullet wounds. She trembled under his touch, and he got up again, gently tugging her, whispering in incoherent Russian.   
“Pozhaluysta, moy dorogoy,” he breathed, half dragging her back to the cell. He didn’t care that she didn’t understand, didn’t know that she was his “dear one”. “Pozhaluysta, ya proshu proshcheniya,”* He shut the door behind them and helped her onto the cot. The English words were eluding him. She broke into sobs on the cot, and carelessly, he grabbed the bowl of water and dumped it on her, using his shirt as a rag. 

The red light of the camera blinked off.  
“Prep him.”


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you see, follow me on Tumblr! Name is the same as on here.
> 
> Warnings: Dehumanization, torture, blood, physical abuse, verbal abuse, choking and description of said choking, death

She was still shivering violently when the agents came. Soldat understood this, he had braced himself for it; he knew that he had failed his mission, but when they laid their hands on her, he’d seen red.  
Two agents died before another had a chance to pull a gun on him.   
They were led back down the hallways to the room where Soldat had found her, and Agent Schneider put her back in the collar and turned his gun on her. Three other agents strapped Soldat in the chair and the machines turned on.  
“What are you going to do to him, what are you doing, don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him-”  
Soldat’s heart was pounding, his breath was quickening, his right hand had clenched into a fist under its restraint; he couldn’t understand what she was saying, she was sobbing hysterically in English, but he had to make her see, he had to tell her  
(Him)  
It wasn’t her  
(His)  
Fault.  
“Go ahead, talk, Sergeant,” someone leered as the machines came down to clamp both sides of his head, and horror rolled through him when he saw the faces of Red Skull and Arnim Zola to his left. “Don’t you see her? Look at her, she’s crying.” They moved slightly aside, and he saw the girl, still naked, with a gun to her head, collared to Agent Schneider. The first wave of electricity crashed through his brain, and he screamed out in a mix of Russian and English. “Moy dorogoy, please—pozhal—I’m sorry—ya proshu proschen—no, please—it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault-”  
I fell.  
He felt like he was falling again. His body spasmed uncontrollably under the straps.  
You came once. You never came again.  
“Don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him-”  
He could see blood gushing out of his left side, flying off in all directions as he whipped through the air.  
Why don’t you come?  
His screams turned to guttural groans. He’d failed. He’d failed his mission—  
I failed, I failed, I failed, you failed, you failed, you failed, you failed—  
He hit the ground, and everything went black.

His eyes fluttered open.  
There was a squat, rotund man standing to his right. The light in the room was bright, almost too much for him to handle. Doctors in white coats flitted purposely around him, clustering nervously on his left. One was writing furiously on a clipboard.  
“Sergeant Barnes…” the squat man greeted him.  
Something was heavy, strange… on his left. He lifted his arms and was shocked to see that the left one was pure metal. It looked just like a human hand, worked just like a human hand—he could make a fist, feel the fingers brushing the palm—  
He reached out without thinking about it and grabbed the doctor with the clipboard by the collar, dragging him down, making it easier for the metal hand to grasp his neck and squeeze. The clipboard clattered to the floor. Under his thumb, the doctor’s pulse fluttered wildly, panicked—he pressed, hard, harder, squeezed—felt the skin give way and the muscles clench, felt the bones crack under his fingers—  
“The procedure has already started, Soldat,” the squat man whispered, and just kept smiling. “We have a mission for you, when you feel up to it.”


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story, follow me on Tumblr. I usually post there first. Name is the same there as it is here.
> 
> Warnings: Rape, physical abuse (broken bones and mention of blood and bodily fluids) choking, swearing, derogatory language, voyeurism, death

The Asset followed the doctor and his agents down the hallway, flexing his arm almost interestedly. He thought that there might have been a long time when he was without an arm, but he couldn’t quite remember, and anyway, that didn’t matter now; he had a good one, and he also had a mission to carry out. They were taking him to the target now, and the doctor, the squat one, who left an uneasy feeling in his stomach, had told the Asset in brutally plain terms that his well-being rested wholly on him fulfilling his orders.   
They entered a large, basement-like room, with only two dim lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. Sitting in the corner, curled up, wearing nothing and shivering violently, was the target.  
The Asset blinked and looked questioningly at the squat doctor, and the target looked up at the sound of people entering the room.  
“This is the target, Soldat.”  
He paused. The target was a starved, battered female, lank hair hanging in her face, and when she glanced at him, he saw her eyes were a pretty blue. The doctor and the agents had stepped back, and lined the walls, waiting expectantly.   
She shifted in the corner. “You’re back.”  
He took a couple steps toward her, unsure of what he wanted to do.   
“They took you away. They tortured you.” She was staggering up, and now she noticed his arm. “What—how-”  
He turned his arm, and the metal plates lifted and locked. Her mouth dropped. “That’s… the most bizarre…”   
His fist clenched. She reached out, and her fingers touched his.  
He could feel her fingers against his. His heartbeat stuttered just a little; she was so gentle, so small… and her blue eyes were so trusting.  
Target.  
Metal whirred as he slammed her brutally against the wall, her back to his. They had told him exactly what to say and do, and he remained calm and collected, even as he drove his arm into her neck and used his other hand to fumble with the buckles on his pants. The target was whining, her voice rising, the whimpers turning into cries, which became outright shrieks, when he pressed himself against her. To his own surprise, the Asset was hard, and he gave himself a calculated glance before removing his left hand from her neck and peeling her apart.  
The target screamed when he rammed himself into her with no preparation, and as he started thrusting, he saw blood on himself when he pulled out.   
Knew this would happen—  
The doctor and the agents shifted.  
Shouldn’t have done it—  
He bit the target’s neck to block out the odd thoughts that were fluttering through his brain, and she moaned—in pain, he thought. Still, he repeated what he’d been told to say, because the doctor had said this would happen, that she would make that sound—  
“Bespoleznyy pizda. Worthless cunt,” he snarled, switching to English, and his ramming sped up. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”  
“No—no-”   
He felt something give way in her, as if a bone had broken, and she howled. Her body had been pounding against the wall with every thrust, and her legs suddenly gave way. He wrapped his right arm around her hips and hauled her up, and her body snapped, mouth opening in a scream she couldn’t articulate. The Asset bit down on her shoulder as he finished, yanked himself out of her, and threw her to the floor. She landed on her stomach, and right on the broken bones of her pelvis.   
He stepped astride her, and then knelt, putting one knee in her lower back. She could no longer scream, but he felt the desperate shudders of pain in her body; she wanted the pressure off her pelvis. He grabbed her hair in his right hand, lifted her head, and fitted his metal hand around her neck.   
Once again, he felt the pulse fluttering wildly under his thumb, but the target’s was somehow more delicate—she was gasping, wheezing—  
“You… monster!”   
His fingers went slack. Behind him, there was a small movement as the squat doctor took a nervous step forward.   
“Da,” he answered her after a moment, and the metal plates in his arm whirred as he grasped her neck again.   
Wait—don’t—  
“Otkas!” he bellowed, and began to squeeze. 

Agent Schneider chewed his lip as he watched the Asset go back into cryogenic freeze. Behind them, one of the interns was cleaning up the mess of blood and body fluids left in the cell. The body of the blonde, blue-eyed, American prostitute had been thrown in a crematorium, and the ashes had been tossed in the trash.  
He turned to Arnim Zola, who was standing next to him, an analytic, but somehow terrifying, look on his face. “If I may speak…?”  
“Of course.”  
“Don’t you think that was quite a… a risk to take?”  
Zola turned to him, the analytic look morphing into one of amusement. “It was quite a risk,” he answered indulgently, and Agent Schneider felt like a three-year old who wasn’t getting it. “But it was worth it. You see… Sergeant Barnes was—is—an extremely protective and loyal young soldier. Those are terrible traits to waste.” A delighted smile broke out on his lips. “So, I didn’t. I let him re-develop his loyalty and his protective instincts, to a point, and then made him loyal to us. All it took was a prostitute who looked like little Steve Rogers and a wipe.”  
“…Why?”  
“Oh, Agent, do you not see it?” He put a hand on Agent Schneider’s shoulder, and the feel of this man’s hand, its light pressure, combined with the fact that Zola almost had to reach up to do it, disgusted him. Zola saw it and smirked. “The agents of SHIELD are looking for Captain America right now. There is a chance—a small one, but a chance, nonetheless—that he survived that crash. If they happen to find him, and if he has survived… well, if he needs to die… it is possible now. The Asset has overcome his instincts and is loyal to us. But… if he is alive… and vulnerable… who better to turn Captain America to our side than the one person he trusts above all others?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word “otkas” is another form of “no” used specifically for renouncement, denial, rejection, or failure, and I thought it was more appropriate in this case

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. All my Russian came from Google Translate, so that's all I've got. I got a minor in Spanish, not Russian, unfortunately.


End file.
